The Sequel to Standing Steady in the Storms
Summary:
Six years after the epilogue of Standing Steady in the Storms, the stakes are once again high. Not high for Anniera, not even high for the monarchy, but for the family unit. The Wingfeathers have concealed a secret from the rest of those who reside on the Shining Isle, not a secret that will wreak havoc on a the world, but a secret kept so to reduce the grief that will follow. It only mounts, proving that just because the world is not at war or because no one is getting kidnapped does not mean pain cannot occur.
Prologue
Notes:
No answers here, just a happy overview before everyone gets depressed.
Also, feel free to offer suggestions, pointers, or things you'd like to see! You have no idea how a random sentence in your comment could spark inspiration!
*****
Snow had blanketed Anneria in its powdery purity and the nip in the air that had once been a simple snappy breath of chilliness had become a sharper stab of frigidness that hurt just the slightest bit to inhale. It was the first true storm of the winter season that had tossed loads of snow on the Annieran countryside and had brought with it children laughing merrily as they threw snowballs at each other or made snowmen or rode across the countryside in sleighs drawn by carthorses whose manes shook and hooves clip-clopped with glee.
It was a joyous time across the Shining Isle of Anniera, one that sparked remembrance and excitement. Young children gathered around older adopted siblings or parents, eyes wide with excitement to hear the tales of the Wingfeather family, of the sacrifice and the Redeeming that had taken place on that very Isle just thirteen years before, and of the life that had followed. It astounded them, made their hearts soar with wonder and ecstasy. They clamored for more stories about the Wingfeathers, and more and more, begged to know if they would ever have the chance to see the Throne Warden, Janner Wingfeather, or the High King, King Kalmar.
Oftentimes their parents would smile and say, “The Redeemer’s Ball is coming soon, and everyone is invited. We’ll go and then what do you get to enjoy the next morning?”
“Presents!” they would all cheer, for the tradition had come to be that everyone gave each other gifts the following morning to remember the gift that had been given to so many: life.
The children would begin hopping out, asking what their presents would be, asking what they would wear to the ball, asking, asking, asking.
Their parents would laugh and tell them they would have to wait, otherwise nothing would be a surprise, and after quieting down, the children would either ask for more stories about the Wingfeathers or run outside to play in the snow.
At least, this was how it was for every other family in Anniera. There was one family, though, that struggled to have joy that season, that struggled to smile, that struggled to laugh, that struggled to tell stories. It was not that they chose to seem upset or worried or unhappy, far from it. In fact, to most everyone who knew them or saw them, they appeared to enjoy the season just as much as anyone else did, oftentimes more than anyone else. Based on the way they acted around others in public, it seemed it was the happiest Winter season they had ever experienced.
Perhaps that was because it was a guise, though. Perhaps their excitement seemed so strong and their smiles so wide because they hid the truth behind walls, away from listening ears, not because they wanted to lie to others, but because it would simply be easier, safer, better, if no one knew. There was one in the family whose frustration, grief, anxiety, and even a touch of anger trumped all others.
The family was the Wingfeathers. And the one was Janner Wingfeather, Throne Warden of Anniera.
*****
Notes:
Oh, and I forgot to mention this: you're my guinea pigs! So you're the first ones to read this and test it out! :)
The Pain of Loving Another
Notes:
I almost cried yesterday when I was writing this....
*****
Just outside one of the larger bedrooms in Castle Rysen, two men spoke in hushed, worried tones, trying to keep quiet.
“There’s nothing you can do? Nothing at all?” Janner asked desperately, hating that he was once again pleading with Doctor Jebsun for something he already knew was impossible. He couldn’t help it, though.
Shaking his head and sighing, Jebsun eyed him pointedly. “I’m so sorry. I’ve done everything I can but there isn’t anything I can do that will help. Sometimes this happens, and we just have to push through it.”
Janner closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, trying to focus his frustration on something other than Doctor Jebsun, who had done nothing but help his family. “Thank you anyway,” he said, his voice soft. He wondered if Jebsun could hear the grief in his tone. He opened his eyes now, and looked the doctor straight in the eyes. “You’ve been so patient. Is there anything I can do for you? Anything to repay you?” To keep the information from circling, they had asked Jebsun to keep everything quiet so only the family would know, much like they had six years earlier after the catastrophe involving things Janner hated to think about, because if he did, he tended to become very testy, far quicker than he would have liked.
Jebsun smiled at him and laid a firm hand on his right shoulder. “Take a break, please. Sort everything out and talk to someone about it all, maybe Artham. When the time comes, she’ll need you. No matter what, I know you’re going to force yourself to be strong for her, but that will be much easier if you’ve prepared yourself beforehand.”
Not needing to know who she was, Janner simply nodded his consent. “That wasn’t really what I meant.”
Smiling again, Jebsun clapped his hand on his shoulder and began walking down the hall to leave. “I know.”
Janner stood there watching him go down the stairs, waiting until the doctor’s brown-haired, bobbing head disappeared out of sight. After this he sighed, rubbed his face with his hands, wiping away the tension and worry for as long as would be necessary, took a deep breath, and opened the door to his and Sara’s room.
The corners of his mouth turned up just slightly when he looked at her, not enough to be considered a real smile, but enough to signify a little bit of pleasure. She was sleeping, her light brown, wavy hair fanned out on the white pillow, her eyes shut, and a contented look on her face.
Janner slipped into the room and closed the door quietly, moving to sit by her in the cushioned armchair beside her bed. He studied her face again, then shut his eyes, knowing that if he only remembered the precious details about her face, he could think about those and not feel the tug of worry in his heart.
It did not work, though, and rather than seeing only the lovely little smile and the gentle contentedness, behind his eyelids he saw how pale she was, how dry her lips were, how hollow her cheeks looked. The attempt the same failure it always had been, he chose to open his eyes again and look at both the precious and heart-wrenching. At least he could see some aspects that made him smile.
Janner stood up and went over to the fire that blazed in the fireplace in one corner of the room and held his hands out to it, trying to warm them. It was not that his hands were unpleasantly cold, he only wanted them warm so he would not startle Sara when he brushed her cheek. He glanced at the bowl of soup Nia had left on the warming rack, wondering if Sara would want to eat it when she woke up or if she would insist on waiting.
His task completed, Janner returned to his seat and stroked Sara’s face gently with his left hand. Not wanting to wake her from much-needed sleep with speech, he simply thought the words he wanted to say aloud. Dearest Sara, I’m here. I love you. And no matter what anyone else says, even if that is Doctor Jebsun, we’ll fight it. We’ll help him fight it, too.
Him. He was the too-small, too-skinny, too-fragile, but perfectly beautiful son who had been born to them a week earlier, nestled in her arms at that moment. Sara’s pregnancy had been difficult, and she had been sick and weak the entire time. Janner couldn’t bear thinking about it because of how terrifying it had been, but the birth was even worse. She had gone into labor a month earlier than she should have, and Nia and Mother Madalana hadn’t even allowed him in the room because of tradition or something else ridiculous. He had paced anxiously outside, waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting, ignoring Kalmar and Artham’s suggestions to sit down and relax before he worried himself to death, waiting, waiting, waiting, answering Evnia and Elquinn in a voice that he hoped did not tremble too much that there had been no news, waiting, waiting, waiting more.
Then there had been a final cry of pain, then utter silence, then a panicked scream. He had chosen to ignore tradition at that point and barged in, only to find their child, their son, not breathing and Mother Madalana trying to resuscitate him while Nia comforted a frantic Sara. He had just stood there, watching, unable to breathe for what felt like far too long until he heard a shrill, weak cry and he found himself gasping for air and his legs trembling. Instead of falling he had chosen to stumble over to Sara and whisper to her soothingly and rub circles around her hand and help her into clean clothes and lift her into bed, setting her down gently, thinking all the while that she was far too thin and shouldn’t have been, not when they had tried so hard to change that.
Mother Madalana washed their son, wrapped him in warm blankets, and handed him to them with the tenderest care. Janner had smiled when he had taken their son in his arms, but he had seen the fear and worry in the midwife’s eyes, and he had heard the uncertainty of their child’s breaths. He had only prayed Sara was too tired to notice before setting him into her arms so she could feed him for the first time.
Cerlon, they had named him, together, even as others warned them the child’s survival was a fool’s hope. They said it would be easier to not name him, to not get too attached, to not put so much emotion into him. He and Sara had at least tried keeping Evnia and Elquinn away, trying to make sure they did not become too attached to their brother who might not live to see the next hour.
It hadn’t worked well, though, and unfortunately everyone had fallen in love with him. Janner felt a twinge in his heart at the thought of calling others’ love for his son “unfortunate.” It seemed wrong. There should never have been something “unfortunate” about loving a perfectly lovable child, never in a thousand years. He shouldn’t have felt grief when he looked at the way Evnia’s green eyes danced with delight as she stroked her baby brother’s head. He shouldn’t have felt grief when he saw the way Elquinn stared in wonder, holding back from touching Cerlon until his twin sister finally convinced him to at least touch Cerlon’s nose and his mouth curved upward in the slightest smile in response. He shouldn’t have felt grief when Artham handed him a tenderly-written poem about his newborn son and gentle wife. He shouldn’t have felt grief when he held Cerlon in his arms, looking down at his precious face and desperately begging him to live, even if there was no hope.
When Janner looked at his son now, he felt his throat burning. He knew the others had been right, he had known it from the start. Every jerky movement he made, every ragged breath he took, he feared it would be his newborn son’s last. It made him want to love Cerlon even more, even if it meant the pain would be all the more dreadful, all the more torturous. At least he would never be able to regret it and look back on this time, wondering if he could have loved their precious son any more. At least he had been there this time.
Janner closed his eyes, feeling tears gathering in them and hoping to ward them off. He had not been there to see Evnia and Elquinn born, and for that matter, he had not been there for the majority of the first several months of their lives. First it had been because of Amrah and his own idiocy, then it had been, once again, because of Amrah and his own idiocy. Neither of those had gotten in the way this time, and neither was going to get in the way, he wouldn’t let it.
“Janner?”
He turned and looked at Sara’s face, her eyes were open and she was blinking drowsily. He smiled at her, hoping it really was genuine. In normal circumstances, she could tell when he was faking, but at this time she might be too tired to notice. His happiness wasn’t entirely a façade. He was glad to see her, he just wasn’t glad as a whole.
“How are you?” he asked her, keeping his voice low. Cerlon was still sleeping, and he needed it.
She smiled a little. “No different than before,” she whispered, not because she was purposely trying to keep quiet, but because it was all she could manage.
Janner brushed wisps back from her forehead and ran his fingers through her hair. “Do you want something to eat? Mama left a bowl of henmeat soup warming by the fire.”
She shook her head. “If Cerlon wakes up I want to feed him. Juggling him and soup...”
Janner smiled at her and reached over to touch Cerlon’s tiny nose with his finger. “Who said you would have to juggle? I would be here.”
Sara gazed at him fondly. “I’m sure you have something better to do like going to Kalmar’s meeting. The one you talked about yesterday, remember?”
“Uncle Artham already took my place," he explained. "Besides, it’s rarely this quiet and it’s rarely just the three of us. I want to be with you, and while I’m with you, I want to help you get your strength back. So will you eat? Please?”
“Oh, fine,” she said teasingly, a faint twinkle in her eyes. Janner immediately moved to help her get into a sitting position, but she stopped him. “Cerlon will wake up as soon as I move. How can I feed him and eat at the same time?”
Janner grinned and while he supported her and rearranged the pillows whispered, “You can feed him and I can feed you.”
She giggled at this, and in the same moment, Cerlon fussed and began making frustrated, weak little noises while keeping his eyes screwed shut.
“My little darling,” Sara murmured, readjusting him in her arms. Janner turned around to retrieve the soup from the warming grate it rested on near the fireplace, and by the time was by her side again, Cerlon was hidden underneath a thin blanket, hopefully filling his belly as he needed to. Just because Doctor Jebsun said there was little hope did not mean they would give up without a fight.
Settling back into the armchair, he spooned a little bit of the soup up, as the last thing he wanted to do was drip it on Sara’s covers, making it necessary to wash all of them, and blew on it gently, just in case it was too hot. He doubted it was, but he didn’t want to take any chances.
“Too cold, too hot, or just right?” He asked Sara after she had taken the bite, rolling her eyes just the tiniest bit.
“It was lovely,” she said with a laugh.
Janner looked at her in mock seriousness. “Sara Wingfeather, I didn’t ask if you enjoyed it, I asked if the temperature needs to be changed.
Her eyes danced playfully as she answered him. “Fine. It could have been a tiny bit warmer. But either way, it’s still lovely.”
By the time the soup was gone, Cerlon had decided he had had enough of eating as well and wanted to sleep again. Janner looked at him lovingly, hoping he had gotten something substantial inside of him. Even though Sara had done her best to feed him every chance she had gotten over the past week, he had stayed small and thin. It had worried Doctor Jebsun, and he had told Janner (not Sara, though) that he didn’t know how much Cerlon was actually getting into his stomach. And in turn it had worried Janner.
He glanced over at Sara, once again laying down on the pillows. She was blinking sleepily, and Janner knew it would not be long before she slipped away again into what he hoped was a good dream.
“Can I get you anything or do anything for you?” he asked, wanting to make sure she was as comfortable as possible.
She looked at him thoughtfully. “Will you rest? You look tired.”
Shaking his head, Janner laughed a little. “I’m not the one who’s about to fall asleep.”
What might have been called the traces of a glare appeared in her eyes, and Janner sighed. “Doctor Jebsun said the same thing when I asked him if I could do anything for him.”
Sara laughed a little, but it was almost inaudible. “So will you?” She looked as though she was ready to sleep again, and her eyelids were fluttering, like she was trying hard to keep them open.
He leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently. “Not when you’re awake. But maybe after you fall asleep. With that in mind, is there anything I can do for you?”
Sara smiled and closed her eyes. “Tea would be nice — for later.”
“As you wish,” he whispered, stroking her cheek until she was breathing deeply and evenly again.
Janner sighed and cupped her cheek, then ran his finger along Cerlon’s jawline. “I love you. Hold on, please.”
*****
Notes:
This...was actually inspired by two things: an LotR one-shot I read and a WFS one-shot revival fic. The LotR fic is more closely connected to the story right now - it's called "You Cried and it Broke My Heart" and it's just beautiful. On AO3, and I highly recommend reading it. The WFS revival fic is called, "The Glory of Servanthood" by WillDreamer, and while it was the initial spark that began this story, it's influence is not obvious right now. It will come into play later^^
I've been meaning to do these chapter links...so here you go, future readers who stumble across this^^
Table of Contents:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Aaaaand everyone can stop panicking now because I've decided that Cerlon is going to live! Just don't tell my AO3 readers, I want it to be a surprise for them 😉
Your virtual protest has been succesful and I will be crediting all of you for the reason why Cerlon is alive. I just need to clean all the styrofoam, silly string, and jelly off of myself.
I suppose we got spoiled with 3 chapters a day of your already-written fan fiction last time, because now it feels like WAY longer than a week since you posted this chapter! 😂 Have you written any more yet? Should I beg and plead to give you motivation? Or should I leave you in peace so you can focus on more important things, like school and church and real life? 😉
I just wanted to say that I've been working on reading some of your earlier fanfiction that you've posted here, and I love it! You're a really talented writer, and I think the way you wrote the characters a lot like the originals (especially Kalmar 😂).
I just read the update and I love it!
Janner should be careful not to spill soup on the thin blanket covering Cerlon. It's a good thing it's not actually hot or it could burn him! I'm glad Janner and Nia are making sure she eats. I do recall a time a week or so after Batwhacker was born, when even though I was absolutely starving all day, I hadn't managed to eat more than a piece of toast. I had been busy holding the baby all day, and couldn't do anything else. She'd cry wherever I set her down, and toast was all I could make and eat safely while I held her. Taking care of a newborn is hard!
I don't know if you feel like editing more, (or if you want to show it later) but you if you wanted to add to everyone's stress you could show that Cerlon is having trouble nursing, and is therefore not getting enough to eat. He could be having trouble because he's so small, or maybe he is just too weak to nurse, so he gives up. He might also be too frustrated and angry at his empty belly to nurse (screaming babies have to calm down before they can eat), but he seems like he's too weak for that.
Another thing that I forgot earlier is that normal, healthy babies lose weight after they're born, and it usually takes 2-3 weeks for them to get back up to their birth weight. The fact that Cerlon isn't gaining weight yet isn't especially concerning, but you could just emphasize the fact that he's far too thin and lacking energy. If he's not nursing enough, he could also get dehydrated. The number of dirty diapers is also an indicator of whether or not the baby is getting enough to eat, but maybe you don't want to focus on a lack of... that... in your story. Or maybe you do. Up to you!
🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣I happened to have been born three and a half weeks early, but it went well as far as I know.
What's the point of Cerlon dying?
😭
Davion was born weak and deformed, and he lived! Don't give up on him!!!
I'm sorry Cerlon, your author is determined to kill you so your father can have character growth! 😭😭😭
Not that I'm bitter or anything.
Yes, this was beautiful. But so sad!
They need to be holding their son! He can sleep in their arms! And when they need to sleep, Nia or Kalmar or Leeli or Galya can come hold him! And Evnia and Elquinn need to see him and love him and hold him (with help) too!
And why isn't Sara eating?! She needs food!!! Lots of food! Why can't she keep it down? She can't feed the baby if she's not eating herself!
(I can tell you from personal experience that pregnant and nursing women need LOTS of food. I spent probably 5 or 6 years wondering what it would be like to not be hungry all the time.)
And they need naps!!! (New moms need this even more than food)
And I'm going to be sad now. But at least you didn't let us get to know this character before you killed him! 😭😭😭
(They should take extra good care of their son. Maybe he'll make it!)
Oh, is Cerlon going to die? I don't want that!! What about the pain it would leave Evnia and Elquinn? And Thorn and Leeli's children? ANd SARA AND JANNER!!